Lost Illusions Even though the telephone hadn’t rung, the secretary picked up the receiver. Without a word, she listened to what was briefly said to her, then hung up the phone. “You may go in.” She motioned towards the padded door. I got up and went into the office of the memory agency owner. The prevailing color was green. Plants of varying shapes and sizes were placed everywhere. The owner’s large desk was covered with vegetation. When he stood up to greet me, holding a plastic sprayer, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a botanical garden. “Hello. Please sit down.” I settled into a ponderous dark-brown leather armchair facing his desk. Tall oleanders in brass pots were placed on either side. When the owner sat down, all I could see was his head above the plants. “So, you’d like to cash in your memory. Fine, fine. This is the first time you’ve put it up for sale, right?”
